The Reintroduction

The Reintroduction At 45, I paused Not in grief, not in flames, But in a soft, wide eyed wonder When did I stop checking in with myself? Somewhere between the morning alarms and late night lists, I became a master of doing, a saint of showing up for everyone but me. I gave, and poured, and shaped myself to fit the contours of every room but my own. Now, I’m standing still in the quiet after the storm, realizing I don’t even know my favorite color, my go to comfort food, the drink I’d savor alone, the movie that moves me because I stopped asking. I deferred, adapted, smiled and nodded, let the current pull me where it pleased. And now, here I am not broken, just unfamiliar. So I begin again. Not to chase the old me or dress up in “shoulds.” But to sit with the silence and listen for the whisper of who I am now. Maybe I’ll try a new dish just to see if I like it. Buy a shirt in a color I don’t recognize. Pick a movie with no consensus but my own. This isn’t a crisis it’s a calling. A gentle turning inward. A reunion with the one I left waiting. And she quiet, patient, resilient is still here. Ready to be known.